“Not you,” Manwyn snarled, glaring at Ashe. “You must wait. The Future hides from he who is invisible to the Present.” She spat in his direction.
Rhapsody swallowed and walked to the well. She remembered what Llauron had said about Manwyn, that she was the most unstable of the three Seers, the maddest of the group. She was unable to lie, but it was sometimes difficult to tell what were genuine prophecies and what were the ravings of an unhinged mind. In addition, the prophecies sometimes had two meanings, or hidden ones, so as to render her an unreliable source, albeit the best one, for information about the Future. Still, she was the last resort for those who came to her temple, and Rhapsody hoped, as did the others who sought her guidance, that this would be a rational and stable day for her.
When she came to the edge of the well Rhapsody steeled herself and looked down. There was no boundary to it, just a yawning hole in the floor with no apparent bottom. In the dark it was a treacherous thing to approach, its edges uneven and hard to see in the dim light. The Seer cackled wildly and pointed to the dark ceiling.
Rhapsody looked up for the first time at the dome to see it was as black as night, whether by craftsmanship or some kind of eerie magic. The dome was studded with stars, or their images, twinkling as hazy wisps of cloud passed in front of them. She could feel the wind tug at the corners of her cape, and knew somehow that she was not within the Temple, she was outside in a vast field at the loneliest point of night, with nothing and no one but the Seer present. A falling star streaked across the sky and the wind grew stronger, buffeting her cheeks.
“Rhapsody.” Ashe’s voice broke the reverie; she looked behind her to see the vague outline of his cloak in the half-light of the Temple. When she turned back to Manwyn, all was as it had been when they entered, except the Prophetess now looked annoyed. She held the sextant to her eye, pointing into the dark night-dome, then gestured at the well.
“Look within to find the appointed time and place,” she said. Rhapsody took a breath; she had not even asked her question yet. She stared down into the well where a picture was forming. When it became clear she could see a Lirin woman, gray of face and in obvious pain, great with child. The woman stopped in her path for a moment to rest, her hand clutching her enormous abdomen.
A scraping noise sounded in the dome above her, and Rhapsody looked up. The stars had shifted to a different longitude and latitude; she made note of the position. Undoubtedly this was Manwyn’s way of indicating the place where she would find the woman.
“When, Grandmother?” she asked the Seer deferentially. Manwyn laughed, a wild, frightening chortle that made Rhapsody’s skin rise into gooseflesh.
“One soul departs as another arrives, eleven weeks hence this night,” she answered as the image in the well vanished. Manwyn stared behind her, and Rhapsody turned to see Ashe approaching, his hood down for the first time. A triumphant smile crawled over the Seer’s face; it held a hint of cruelty in it. She looked directly at him, but when she spoke her words were still directed at Rhapsody.
“I see an unnatural child born of an unnatural act. Rhapsody, you should beware of childbirth: the mother shall die, but the child shall live.”
Rhapsody began to tremble. She now understood what Ashe had meant about vague prophecies. Was Manwyn referring to the Lirin woman, or to Rhapsody herself? Though the context would suggest the first, there was a clarity in the tone of her voice that indicated otherwise. She wanted to ask, but could not get her mouth to form the words.
“Exactly what does it mean?” demanded Ashe. He sounded angrier than she had ever heard him. “What kind of games are you playing, Manwyn?”
Manwyn’s hands went to her blazing red hair. Slowly her fingers entwined themselves into the unkempt locks, twisting them into long knotted snarls. She stared at the ceiling, smiling and crooning a wordless melody, then shot Ashe as direct a look as Rhapsody had ever seen with her monochromatic eyes.
“Gwydion ap Llauron, thy mother died in giving birth to thee, but thy children’s mother shall not die giving birth to them.” She burst into insane laughter.
Ashe touched her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here,” he said in a low voice. “Did she tell you what you need to know?”
“I’m not sure,” Rhapsody said. Her voice was shaking, even though she did not feel the fear that she could hear in it.
“Gwydion, have you bade your father farewell? He dies in the eyes of all to live in the sight of none; you are duplicitous, though you will both suffer and benefit from his living death. Woe unto him who lies for the man who taught him the value of truth, Gwydion; it is you who will pay the price for his newfound power.”
“SIKLERIV!” Ashe snarled in a multitoned voice she had never heard before; the word sliced through Rhapsody like a knife. Innately she knew the word meant silence, and in its own language it teetered close to a deplorable obscenity. She guessed the language was dragon.
Ashe had grown flushed. Rhapsody saw the vein in his forehead begin to pulse and his skin grew angry and red.
“Not another word, you wyrm-tongued maniac!” he screamed.
Rhapsody felt cold at the edges of her skin, the bristling, calculating ire of the dragon in him beginning to coil. There was a frightening calm to it, and twisted, manipulative energy that made her feet and hands turn to ice. The realization that Manwyn, too, was wyrmkin, the daughter of the dragon, made her heart begin to palpitate. She took Ashe’s hand.
“Let’s go,” she whispered urgently and pulled on his arm. He resisted, drawn to the edge of a ferocious battle of wills. Rhapsody felt panic wash over her at that prospect. Manwyn rose to her knees and begin to keen, a modulating wail that shook the foundations of the rotunda, causing fragments of stone and dust to fall from the ceiling above.
Ashe’s hand clenched hers tighter, his eyes focused on the shrieking Oracle. Bit by bit she could feel him slip away, his concentration locked on the dais and the opponent sitting on it, now swinging wildly over the bottomless well. The air was becoming difficult to breathe, full of dust and static. The earth trembled beneath their feet, and the firmament of the dome felt as though it were about to burst into flames.
Rhapsody gave Ashe another violent tug, but his resistance was even greater this time. She took a deep breath and sang his name in a deep, low tone, punctuating it with the discordant note to Manwyn’s ear-piercing screech. The sound rolled throughout the rotunda, shattering the wail and driving Manwyn momentarily into shocked silence. Ashe blinked, and in the moment that he did Rhapsody dragged him from the room, Manwyn’s hysterical laughter ringing in their ears.
They were halfway to the city gates before they stopped running. Ashe was swearing to himself under his breath, weaving a vile tapestry of obscenity in a vast number of languages and dialects. Rhapsody tried to ignore him, but the imagery of his foul speech was fascinating in an offensive way.
At the edge of a large dry well they came to a halt and sat, breathing deeply in the humid heat of the last vestiges of the dying summer. Rhapsody was burning beneath her cloak, shaking from exertion. Finally she looked up and glared at him.
“Was that really necessary?”
“She began it. I didn’t antagonize her.”
“No,” Rhapsody admitted, “you really didn’t. Why did she attack you like that?”
“I don’t know,” said Ashe, pulling out his waterskin and offering it to her. “Maybe she felt threatened; dragons are unpredictable like that.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said, and took a deep drink. She passed the skin back to him. “Well, that’s over. I have to say, the more I get to know your family, the less I like them.”
. —
“And you haven’t even met my grandmother yet,” said Ashe, smiling for the first time. “That’s an unparalleled treat. Let’s hope she doesn’t show up at the Cymrian Council.”